was of opinion that Aunt Emily might be invited too.

"Oh, no," Tim gave his decided verdict, "not women. They can't hide
properly. They bulge."

And at that moment Judy appeared in the doorway across the hall.

"It's coming," she cried. "I've ordered everything--hot milk and Bath
Olivers and preserved ginger and--"

Cousin William took the matter into his own hands then, for the
situation was growing desperate. "Look here," he suggested gravely,
yet without enthusiasm, "I'll take the milk and stuff upstairs when
I've got into bed, and meanwhile we'll do something else. I'm--that
is, my cold is too bad to play a game, but I'll tell you a story
about--er--about a tiger--if you like?" The last three words were
added as a question. An answer, however, was not immediately
forthcoming. For the moment was a grave one. It was admitted that
Come-Back Stumper could play a game with credit and success, even an
active game like hide-and-seek; but it was not known yet that he could
tell a story. The fate of the evening, therefore, hung upon the
decision.

"A tiger!" said Tim, doubtfully, weighing probabilities. "A tiger you
shot, was it, or just--a tiger?" A sign, half shadow and half pout,
was in his face. Maria and Judy waited upon their brother's decision
with absolute confidence, meanwhile.

Colonel Stumper moved artfully backwards towards a big horsehair sofa,
beneath the deer heads and assegais from Zululand. He did it on